


Tight Spaces

by concavepatterns



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bickering, F/M, Sass, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 01:18:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3631224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concavepatterns/pseuds/concavepatterns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Darcy Lewis finds herself stuck in an elevator with her mortal enemy (who, funnily enough, isn't even mortal at all).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tight Spaces

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mischiefgoddesscomplex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischiefgoddesscomplex/gifts), [Faellen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faellen/gifts).



> Based on [ this](http://concavepatterns.tumblr.com/post/114614914514) tumblr post and dedicated to Mischiefgoddesscomplex and Darkthestars who are celebrating their birthdays soon! You're some of the best tasertricks buddies a girl could ask for, and I hope your birthdays are filled with sunshine, happiness, and potatoes <3

Darcy Lewis was experiencing the morning from hell.

“Late late late!” She ran into Stark Tower at top speed, veering to the right and quickly flashing her ID badge to the guard on duty before she made a mad dash towards the elevators.

“Hold the door!” She cried, waving her arm at the elevator’s occupant, but the woman’s head was down, absorbed in whatever she was looking at on her tablet, and she didn’t see or hear Darcy’s plea.

The doors slid shut just as Darcy skidded to a halt in front of them, streaming a string of curses under her breath. Of course she had to oversleep, get caught in traffic, _and_ miss the elevator on the one day she was actually needed at an important meeting with Stark and the others.

Usually during their weekly State of Superhero Affairs meetings, she just sat in the corner and daydreamed or doodled cartoon versions of the Avengers in the margins of her notepad (she drew one hell of a cute little Hulk) but today, she had to actually present some of Jane’s data since the astrophysicist was currently a continent away in Reykjavik, heading some research group.

The meeting was to start promptly at 10, and according to Darcy’s phone, it was now 10:23. Just perfect.

“Dammit, not today!” She complained, kicking uselessly at the elevator doors as she punched the call button and waited for it to return to the ground floor.

“Meditation.”

A voice spoke behind her and Darcy internally groaned, knowing exactly who it was. As if _he_ was here. That was just the cherry on top of her ice cream sundae of awfulness.

“What the hell are you talking about?” She gave Loki her best ‘eat dirt’ look before pointedly turning her back on him and giving the button another half dozen forceful jabs with her finger.

“I hear that meditation is quite useful for combating anger issues,” Loki explained in a casual tone that made Darcy’s eye twitch. “Perhaps you should give it a try, rather than treating the world as your personal punching bag,” he lifted his eyebrows, staring at where her hand was still poised over the call button, fully prepared to pound on it a few more times.

“I think I’d rather stick with punching,” Darcy responded. “And what do you know, your face just happens to look like my next target.”

The asshole had the audacity to laugh at her, and Darcy curled her fingers into a fist, fully prepared to take a swing at that stupid, pretty face of his. The only thing that saved him was the ding of the elevator doors as they reopened.

“Ladies first,” Loki gestured for her to enter and Darcy stuck her tongue out at him before stepping inside.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to Conference Room B,” she said, hitting the button for the 14th floor.

“I am,” Loki confirmed, leaning back against the hand railing that ran horizontal across the length of the elevator.

“Ugh.” She made sure to inject as much revulsion into the noise as possible, scrunching up her face.

“Have I ever told you how positively charming you are?” Loki asked, brushing invisible wrinkles out of his flawless white dress shirt. With the sleeves rolled up his forearms and the top two buttons undone, he looked like he stepped straight out of the pages of Asgardian GQ and Darcy cursed whatever deity had made him so good looking but such a monumental asshole.

“Bite me,” she muttered, scowling down at her armful of presentation papers as she shuffled them into some semblance of order.

“I would,” Loki replied, stepping behind her and leaning down to speak into her ear, his voice a low purr, “but I believe you would quite enjoy it.”

Fucking hell.

Darcy clenched her papers, vaguely aware of hearing them crinkle between her fingers while her body betrayed her, turning nine different types of hot and bothered.

She opened her mouth, fully prepared to unload a long string of colorful insults on him, when the elevator lurched unexpectedly. Losing her balance, Darcy dropped her papers, the sheets floating down onto the floor while she vainly reached for the hand rail to keep herself from toppling over.

She was too far away; she couldn’t possibly reach it, and just as she prepared for the humiliation and pain of falling flat on her face, Loki’s arms were wrapping around her waist, keeping her upright.

The lighting overhead flickered briefly but thankfully remained on as the elevator came to a dead stop in between floors 10 and 11.

Once Darcy regained her senses, she realized that Loki was still firmly holding her waist and his face was perilously close to hers. God, he had nice eyes. So bright and green...

NOPE. Monumental asshole, she reminded herself.

“You can let go now,” she pushed him away, smoothing down her blouse and straightening her floral skirt.

“You’re welcome,” Loki said tartly, returning to his original corner of the elevator.

“I swear to God...day from hell,” Darcy murmured to herself, checking her phone and cringing when she saw that it was 10:56. She’d be a full hour late to the meeting now. Fan-freaking-tastic.

She punched the button for the 14th floor again but nothing happened, and Darcy felt her stomach drop as if the elevator were lurching all over again.

“No no noooo...” she whined, frantically hitting the button.

“Perhaps if you didn’t hit it so hard-”

Darcy whipped around, directing a deadly glare at Loki that instantly shut him up.

“It’s fine,” she said, speaking more to herself than him. “This is what emergency buttons are for.”

She poked the “help” button, tapping her foot as she waited for the call to connect.

“How may I be of assistance?” JARVIS’ smooth voice filtered through the speakers and Darcy breathed a sigh of relief.

“It’s Darcy Lewis. I’m stuck in here with His Royal Pain in the Ass and we need help,” she explained, batting Loki away when he scowled at her nickname and attempted to push her aside so he could take control of the call.

“I will notify Mr. Stark, Miss Lewis. Please hold.”

* * *

Meanwhile, in the conference room on the 14th floor, Tony let out a low whistle. “She’s trapped in there with the man of mischief himself? That’s rough.”

“Shall I call maintenance, Mr. Stark?” JARVIS asked.

Tony considered the question before grinning. “Nah, leave them. The automatic door release will activate in 12 hours anyway, and I want to see how this plays out.”

“Twenty bucks says they kill each other before noon,” Clint waged, chair squeaking as he leaned back and sipped his takeout coffee.

“Are you kidding me, Bird Man? No deal,” Tony shook his head. “It’ll be a blood bath within twenty minutes.”

* * *

“JARVIS YOU BUTTHOLE, ANSWER ME!”

“Cease your screeching, Miss Lewis. I believe we have been abandoned,” Loki pinched the bridge of his nose, looking none too happy about their current situation.

“But...but...JARVIS said...and then...he can’t do that! It’s not fair!” Darcy sputtered angrily.

“Life is unfair, Miss Lewis. I suggest you get used to it,” Loki intoned, voice muffled as his hand continued to cover his face.

“Oh god,” Darcy slunk down onto the floor. “I’m trapped. With _you_. What if I have to pee? And what about food? I’m gonna starve!”

“Be reasonable,” Loki responded, “you will not starve.” He paused, tilting his head with a contemplative look. “You will likely die of suffocation first.”

“What the hell, Loki! Why would you say that?!” Darcy bunched up one of her discarded papers and threw it at him, “God, I hate you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Loki said dryly, scowling when Darcy’s paper ball hit him in the leg. He seemed to admit defeat at that point, joining her on the floor but sitting as far from Darcy as possible.

“This is totally unacceptable,” Darcy pulled her phone from her purse, “I’m not going to suffocate in here and have your stupid face be the last thing I ever see. Arrgh, dammit!” When the screen lit up with a message of ‘no service’, she jammed the phone back into her purse and leaned back against the wall dejectedly.

After a few morose minutes of silence, she asked, “Can you magic us out of here?”

“I cannot,” Loki stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles as he studied her with a look that said he would rather be anywhere else at the moment. “I am only capable of producing illusions.”

“Lot of help you are,” Darcy snorted.

“And _you_ are absolutely brimming with magical abilities that shall help us escape, hmm?” Loki raised one eyebrow and Darcy fought down the desire to wipe that look off his face with her fist.

When she didn’t answer, Loki crossed his arms over his chest with a pleased smirk. “So I thought.”

“Okay, that’s it. I’m gonna pummel you.” Darcy crawled across the short distance between them, fully prepared to introduce her knuckles to Loki’s nose, but his hand shot out at the last minute, closing around her wrist and stopping her.

“I didn’t think you were serious,” he blinked at her before twisting her wrist a little as if he were examining her fist from different angles. “Interesting.”

“What, you’ve never seen a girl throw a punch before?” Darcy huffed, tugging her wrist loose from his grip.

She settled back on her side of the cramped elevator, smoothing her skirt over her knees, and when she looked up, Loki was staring at her oddly.

“What now?” She questioned, rolling her eyes.

“I may have underestimated you, Miss Lewis.” The grin Loki gave her was almost obscene; wicked, sexy, and a dozen other things Darcy couldn’t put a name to at the moment. “I believe we might actually get along quite well.”

“Shut up, Loki.”

* * *

 

“How long has it been?” Loki asked yet again.

His mouth moved like clockwork, the question being directed at Darcy every few minutes, and after she checked her phone for the umpteenth time, she closed her eyes, banging her head against the elevator wall.

“We’ve barely been in here for two hours,” she groaned. “This is the worst.”

“Indeed,” Loki agreed, doing some kind of swooping, twisty thing with his hand that produced a glow of gold magic as a leather-bound book took shape in his hands.

Cracking open the thick tome, Loki proceeded to completely ignore her, focusing his attention solely on his book as he buried his nose in the pages.

“Um...what the hell was that?!” Darcy exclaimed. “You can _make books?_ If you get one, I deserve one too. I’m bored out of my mind over here.”

Loki sighed as if her request hugely inconvenienced him, but nonetheless he waved his hand and a second book appeared which he held out to Darcy.

“Thanks,” she muttered begrudgingly as she accepted the book, eagerly flipping to the first page and finding...symbols. Strange foreign words and bizarre symbols like nothing she’d seen before. “Loki?”

“Yes?” He didn’t even look up.

“What language is this?”

He lifted his head then, blinking at her with a faux-innocent look of confusion, “Oh. You do not understand the Aesir written language? How unfortunate for you.”

He really was quite good at the illusion thing, Darcy had to admit. The book looked and felt completely real, so she was greatly disappointed when the thick volume did no damage at all when she threw it directly at his head.

* * *

 

“Gimmie your shoe laces,” Darcy demanded some time later.

“What in the nine realms do you require shoe laces for?” Loki asked from where he was slouched in the corner with his head tilted back and eyes closed. “Planning to strangle me in my sleep, Miss Lewis?”

“Don’t give me any ideas,” she warned, reaching out and poking the toe of his shoe.

In response, Loki jerked his legs away, giving her a sour look.

“I’m seriously dying of boredom so gimme your laces and we can play cat’s cradle,” she explained. “You _do_ know how to play that, right?”

“No,” Loki retorted, closing his eyes again.

“No you don’t know how to play, or no you won’t give me your shoe laces?” Darcy questioned.

“The latter.”

“Well, you’re no fun,” Darcy grumbled, shifting into a more comfortable position. As she moved, her hand landed on one of her presentation papers that were still spread across the floor.

The meeting had to be long over by now so it wasn’t like she actually needed them anymore, and with that in mind, she set to work creasing the sheet of paper into a series of folds before rooting around in her purse, eventually producing a ballpoint pen. She finished off her project by taking her pen to each little flap she’d created, scribbling words into the empty spaces.

“Voila!” She held her creation with her index fingers and thumbs, stretching her arms out towards Loki. “Pick one.”

“What is that?” Loki recoiled as if her little craft personally offended him.

“A fortune teller,” Darcy explained. “Pick a color.”

“This is childish,” Loki muttered, eyeing the names of colors she’d scrawled onto the four corners of the paper, “....blue.”

Darcy grinned widely. “Blue it is. B-L-U-E,” she named off the letters as she moved her paper game. “Now pick a number.”

Loki peered at the game, examining his options while his mouth set itself into a thoughtful frown.

“Oh my god, I’m not asking you to crack some unbreakable code, just pick a damn number!” Darcy complained, shoving the fortune teller under his nose.

“Give me a moment,” Loki snapped. “Five.”

Darcy counted off the numbers before holding the game out towards him again. “One more time, and don’t take all day.”

“I believe,” Loki drawled, looking up at her, “that we have nothing _but_ time, Miss Lewis.”

“Don’t be a smartass,” Darcy replied.

“Fine,” Loki grumbled. “Three.”

“One, two, three. Okay, ready to hear your fortune?” Darcy asked.

“What does it say?” Loki rubbed his forehead tiredly, looking like he was nearing the end of his patience.

“It says...” Darcy lifted the flap and read, “Loki is a butthead and Thor is the more attractive brother.”

“That is not even a proper fortune!” Loki snatched the game off her fingers and crumpled it in his fist.

“Jeez, anger issues much?” Darcy commented, crossing her arms over her chest. “You know, I’ve heard meditation helps for that.”

Loki groaned. “I do believe I loathe you, Miss Lewis.”

“Same here, sweet cheeks.”

* * *

 

It was at some point around the five hour mark when conversation had completely petered out between them and Darcy decided to take a nap, gathering her scattered presentation papers and stacking them into a pile she could lay her head on.

Her sad, crude attempt at a pillow was absolutely no help at all, and after much tossing and turning, complete with a colorful commentary about how her stiff neck could go screw itself, Loki finally spoke up.

“Come here,” he sighed, gesturing for her to move to his side of the elevator.

“Why?” Darcy side-eyed him warily, attempting to rub the crick out of her neck.

“I assume that you will not shut up until you are comfortable, so I am offering you just that: comfort,” Loki explained, staring at her in a highly unnerving way.

“What?” Darcy squeaked. “I am _soooo_ not putting my head in your lap, dude.”

“I did not say it needed to be my lap,” Loki muttered, and if Darcy didn’t know better, she’d say he was actually blushing a little.

“Well I can’t use your chest if you’re sitting up like that,” Darcy said, waving her hand to emphasize the way he was awkwardly crammed into the corner. “You’ll have to actually lie down.”

Loki rubbed a hand over his face. “Fine.”

He stretched out length-wise across the floor as much as he could; his legs being too long to allow him to fully lie flat on his back. “Well?” He questioned with a lift of his eyebrows, “Are you coming?”

“Errgh,” Darcy made an unintelligible noise, her throat going dry.

He looked way too good lying on the floor like that, weight propped up on his elbows and leaning back in a way that accentuated the long, leanness of him.

God, that stupid, tight dress shirt was practically begging to be unbuttoned by her fingers. Maybe his pants too, while she was at it.

“Miss Lewis?” Loki prompted, smirking in a way that suggested he was fully aware of what he was doing to her.

“Yeah, um, right. Okay.” Darcy took her time settling down beside him, careful to make sure that (a) her skirt didn’t ride up, and (b) her boobs were as far from pressing into his side as possible.

All her effort went to waste though, when Loki snaked an arm around her waist and hauled her up against him.

“No need to be shy,” he murmured in a way that made her temperature spike and pulse go wild.

Sweet mother of God. He was all sorts of warm and firm, and Darcy’s brain felt like it was about to short-circuit from sensory overload.

“No need to be an egotistical ass,” she retorted, her voice coming out thicker than she intended.

Loki huffed out a laugh, the vibrations of his chest making Darcy unconsciously shiver. “So I am wrong in believing that our close proximity affects you?”

Damn right she was affected. Her breathing had shifted, lungs squeezing tight with every inhale of that rich, spicy scent of his, and between her legs, an annoying, burning throb was building.

Not that she would ever admit any of that to him.

“You _are_ wrong,” she confirmed. “I’m fine. Cool as a cucumber. This is nothing. Like cuddling with my grandpa.”

And that was how you successfully killed a mood in ten seconds or less, Darcy thought smugly as Loki frowned and retracted his arm from around her waist.

“I am far from being an old man,” he disputed.

“If you say so,” Darcy bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing at how offended he sounded.

“I have not yet reached my two thousandth year of life,” Loki continued. “In comparison with a Midgardian lifespan, that would make me barely much older than yourself.”

“Justify it however you want. You’re still like, a thousand years old, Loki. Literal _-eep!_ ”

The rest of Darcy’s reply was cut off when Loki swiftly rolled over, pinning her body beneath him.

“Look at me,” he ordered firmly, eyes blazing with heat. “Tell me what you see.”

He was breathing heavily and with the angle he had bent his head to stare at her, his hair was threatening to fall forward into his eyes. It was fucking gorgeous, and that mood Darcy had killed suddenly resurrected itself with double the potency.

“I don’t see an old man,” she breathed, wetting her lips as she blinked up at him. “I see a baby. An overgrown tantrum-throwing toddler, actually.”

“I despise you, Darcy Lewis.” Loki spoke, his eyes drifting down to her parted lips. “More than I have ever despised anyone.”

“Yeah, well...” She could barely string together a coherent thought with the way Loki’s body was pressed against hers, and Darcy soon abandoned her search for a comeback, giving in to the heated combination of anger and sexual frustration he brought out in her. “Fuck it. Just kiss me already.”

He didn’t have to be told twice, and Loki’s mouth came down hard on hers, hungry and urgent.

Darcy slid her arms around him, hands trailing down the hard muscles of his back and making Loki groan when she repeated the motion again using her nails.

His hands began pushing aside the fabric of her skirt, getting lost in the layers of tulle underneath and with a frustrated growl he tugged at a handful of the material forcefully.

“Rip my skirt and I’ll break your neck,” Darcy threatened. “This is Anthropologie. It cost me a fucking fortune.”

“Are you always so vulgar?” Loki questioned, releasing his hold on her skirt while Darcy reached down and carefully pushed the layers of fabric aside, exposing her upper thighs.

“Always,” Darcy confirmed with a grin, “and I’m even worse when I’m having really, really good sex.”

Loki’s index finger drifted up the inside of her thigh teasingly. “Shall I take that as a challenge?”

Darcy gasped, her hips automatically lifting when he brushed against the dampening fabric of her panties before hooking his fingers into the waistband and tugging them down. “You should,” she said hoarsely. “Now impress me.”

With a wicked smile, Loki ducked his head and replaced the work of his fingers with his mouth.

“Oh my god,” Darcy whined, her hands instinctively threading into his hair and holding him in place.

His tongue felt blazing hot as he licked a strip up her centre, and Darcy’s legs jerked from the intense sensation.

“Pants off. Now.” She ordered, grabbing at his shoulders as she tried to force him up.

He acquiesced, sitting up and rubbing the back of his hand over his wet mouth in an act that was so incredibly hot, Darcy felt like her ovaries might burst.

“I have barely begun,” he protested.

“Pants. Off.” She repeated, reaching for his belt and quickly unbuckling it.

“Honestly, you are the most demanding mortal-”

“Loki,” Darcy cut him off, “for the love of all that is holy, take off your damn pants!” She emphasized her demand by rolling her hips and grinding against him in a way that was far from subtle.

A choked groan left Loki’s lips and his eyes briefly shut before they refocused on Darcy’s face, pupils dark and burning with intent.

His hands went to the front of his pants, deftly undoing the button and zipper before pushing them down around his ankles. He reached for her shirt next, his long, skilled fingers making quick work of the series of buttons until he had exposed her creamy pale skin and navy blue bra.

It became like a frantic race then, both being too impatient to undress any further than that, and Loki pushed her skirt up around her waist, positioning himself at her entrance. His eyes found hers in a silent request for permission and when Darcy nodded, he began to ease himself into her.

“Yes,” Darcy hissed at the feeling.

Loki dropped his head to her chest, groaning against her skin as he fully sheathed himself inside her. “You feel exquisite, Miss Lewis,” he rasped, voice raw.

“I think,” Darcy broke off with a slight moan as he began to rock against her, “we’ve reached a point where you can call me Darcy.”

“Very well, Darcy.” The last syllable of her name was accompanied by a hitched breath when Darcy hooked her legs around his hips and urged him deeper.

“Fuck,” she arched against him, fingers digging into his back when Loki alternated angles, doing something amazing with his hips that made Darcy see stars. “Oh my god, do that again.”

“As I said,” Loki gasped out between heavy breaths, “you are the most demanding mortal I have ever had the displeasure of encountering.”

“Yeah?” Darcy replied, her voice thick and throaty with pleasure, “Keep talking.”

“You are rude and stubborn,” Loki continued, pausing to kiss her hard, “and you lack any semblance of etiquette.”

“And it drives you totally mental,” Darcy picked up where he left off, “because you hate me, but you can’t get enough of me.”

“Yes,” he admitted on a low growl, hand closing around one of her thighs as his hips picked up speed. “How did you know?”

Darcy made a pleased noise in her throat. “Oh god, harder.” Her brain felt sluggish, hazy and swimming with lust, so it took her a long moment to formulate a response to his question, especially after Loki met her demand and increased his pace. “I know because you do the same thing to me.”

“Do I?” Loki’s eyes were impossibly dark, half-closed with pleasure as he gazed down at her.

“Fuck, Loki.” The steady pressure low in Darcy’s stomach began to build, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. “Yes. Of course you do. I can’t stand your stupid, perfect face,” she said, pulling him down to her as their mouths met in a hot, needy kiss.

“Darcy,” Loki groaned against her lips in a warning as his body tensed above hers.

“Just a little more,” she breathed, canting her hips and meeting each of his rough thrusts.

Loki’s eyes were firmly fixed on hers, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he spoke a string of foreign words under his breath, and the look on his face combined with the low, gravelly tone of his voice, was all the extra push Darcy needed to let go.

She reached her release with a broken cry, stifling the noise as she pressed her face into Loki’s shoulder, and as she rode out her high, she felt him shudder and breathe out her name as he followed her.

She expected it to be awkward afterwards but instead Darcy felt oddly comfortable as they lay together catching their breath, so it caught her completely off guard when the elevator suddenly jolted, moving floors.

“Shit!” She pushed Loki off of her, attempting to shove down her skirt and get her shirt buttoned back up before she ended up flashing an unsuspecting floor of Stark Industries employees.

To her relief, when the doors slid open on the 11th floor, there was no one around.

Darcy breathed out a sigh, getting to her feet and facing Loki. He had obviously attempted to re-dress in a hurry; his shirt was haphazardly tucked into his pants and there was a healthy flush on his cheeks. He looked so good it hurt, and Darcy was swiftly back to hating him and his flawless Godliness. He wore the messy hair/wrinkled clothing post-sex look so well, while on the other hand, she probably looked like she’d just crawled out of a dumpster she’d slept in.

Loki stepped around her, careful to ensure that their bodies didn’t brush as he reached for the panel of buttons on the wall. His hand hovered in the air uncertainly as he asked, “You will be continuing to the 14th floor, I assume?”

His voice was still laced with a deep, huskiness that made Darcy’s skin go warm and she cleared her throat, swallowing hard as she debated her answer. “What floor’s your room on?”

“Six,” Loki looked surprised by the question. “Do you wish...?”

“Yeah,” Darcy confirmed. “You’re gonna make me a sandwich and then we’re going to repeat what just happened in here. In your bed. You good with that?”

Loki’s answer came in the form of a firm, decisive press of the “6” button, and then he was backing Darcy against the wall, pushing his body up against hers.

“I will not bend to your demands forever,” he warned, his lips hovering over hers.

“I know,” Darcy replied, even though the look in his eyes told her that his words of caution carried no real weight.

He was a God of Lies, after all.


End file.
